Page 9 of Trick me. Treat me

She’s here.

I watch as the black SUV disappears through the gates before turning my attention back to the security feed. Violet stands in my fucking living room with her bag, looking around like she’s trying to decide if she’s safe or not.

Mr. Pickles trots into view and the traitorous little fuck immediately rolls onto his back for her. I lean in close to the monitor as Violet lowers herself, that long black hair of hers spilling over one shoulder while she fawns over him.

“Well hi there. You must be Mr. Pickles. I’m Violet. Apparently I’m risking my life for you.”

Her voice comes through the speakers perfectly. That fucking voice. The reason any of this is happening.

August. Some late-night squad lobby. Me, Knoxx and Ryker fucking around online because we had nothing better to do when she landed in our team. She piqued my interest almost instantly. Not because she was particularly good. She was fucking terrible, actually. But because of the way she spoke. Soft. Sweet. A little nervous until she got comfortable, and pretty drunk. Then she just wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

She played multiple games with us, and I spent the entire time listening to her ramble. By the end of the night, I wanted to know what she looked like. Finding her took less than ten minutes. People really need to stop using the same username for everything. Her gamertag led me straight to her socials. And her socials gave me Violet.

A twenty-one year old art student. And because apparently the universe occasionally likes to hand me presents, she went to college less than an hour away.

After that? I just kept watching. Day after day. Night after night. Weeks flew by, and by September, I knew her schedule perfectly. I knew when her lectures were. I knew what time to be at the grocery store to watch her from a distance as she shopped. I knew that she had a habit of staying awake until stupid fucking hours playing games when she should’ve been sleeping.

Obsessed is probably the appropriate word. Possessive is another. Knoxx called me a fucking psychopath, then asked to see her pictures. Hypocritical bastard. Ryker took one look at her and asked what I was planning. Because they know me. They know when I want something, I get it. And because the three of us have never been particularly precious about sharing—women, and each other—they wanted in. Violet had us all captivated the second we laid eyes on her curvy body and pretty little face.

So I made a plan, and here we are.

This cabin belongs to me. Every camera, every lock, every fucking light is connected to the system sitting beneath my fingertips. Including the Wi-Fi. One click and she’s completely disconnected from the outside world. One click and every door locks. She thinks the little black fob Harris gave her is her way in and out. It isn’t.

I watch her wander further into the living room, Mr. Pickles following at her heels. Knoxx drops into the chair beside me.

“She there?”

I don’t look away from the screen. “No, I’m watching some other pretty little thing walking around my cabin.”

“Asshole.”

Ryker appears behind us, arms folded across his chest as his eyes settle on the monitor. Violet bends to pick up Mr. Pickles, giving us a perfect view of her ass. All three of us groan in unison.

“She doesn’t know yet?” Ryker asks.

“No.” I mutter.

“And you’re sure about this?” He’s such a soft bastard. To say he’s the biggest one of us all, he’s like a fucking teddy bear.

I think about that night online. About Violet laughing into her headset after too many drinks, admitting her fantasies to three men she never thought she’d meet. The same fantasies she assumed would disappear into a random lobby the second she logged off. Then I look back at the screen, grinning.

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Knoxx laughs. “You’re such a sadistic bastard.”

I’ve spent three months watching Violet from a distance. Tonight, I finally get to play with her.

And by the time the sun comes up, she’ll know exactly who I am.

Chapter Four

Violet

Trick or treat, Violet?

I can’t breathe. My thumb hovers useless above the screen as I stare through the window. He’s still there. The man. The mask. With a fucking knife hanging loosely from his hand.

I hadn’t noticed it before. I really, really wish I hadn’t noticed it now. The blade catches a sliver of light from the moonlight breaking through the canopy as he shifts his wrist, and every tiny hair on my body stands on end.